


It Takes a Fool (in this world all covered up in shame)

by LeapAngstily



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Andrea's dirty mouth, Explicit Sexual Content, Gratuitous misuse of FIFA, M/M, Mentions Of Infidelity, Mentions of Gattuso's wrath, PWP - Porn with Peerlo, Pippo being easy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-25
Updated: 2014-10-25
Packaged: 2018-02-22 13:24:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2509358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeapAngstily/pseuds/LeapAngstily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Playstation, Plasmon biscuits, and Nesta’s ingenious attempts at matchmaking – an average night in Milanello, really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Takes a Fool (in this world all covered up in shame)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Porpentina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Porpentina/gifts).



> This fic was inspired by Pirlo’s book _I Think Therefore I Play_ , and it is set when he was still playing for Milan – I’m thinking around 2007 or thereabouts, but it’s not really important to the story. I’ve included some relevant quotes from the book at the end.
> 
> Happy birthday to my best friend and platonic wife, Nanna! I promised I would write her something, and that’s a good enough reason to forget about my self-imposed writing hiatus for one day.
> 
> The title comes from The Ark song _It Takes A Fool To Remain Sane_ — my inspiration to this story and life in general.

It had all started with the Playstation, Andrea decides afterwards. Some might argue that the blame should fall on Nesta, but Andrea is not willing to give the bastard the satisfaction.  
  
It begins on a painfully ordinary Saturday evening, in Milanello after the last afternoon training session prior to Sunday’s league match. Andrea and Sandro lock themselves in their room and hit the game console, Barça versus Barça, just like any other day.  
  
Except Sandro is being an annoying little shithead who cannot enjoy a simple game of FIFA without additional stakes.  
  
“C’mon Andrea, we play this every day! It’ll make things more interesting.”  
  
Andrea makes a mental note to talk to the team’s psychologist about Sandro’s gaming problem.  
  
“It’s interesting enough as it is, we don’t need your stupid bets.”  
  
“So you’re afraid you’re gonna lose?” Sandro is beaming innocently at him, “I know I’m ridiculously good, but you shouldn’t give up so easily. Where’s your sense of adventure?”  
  
He knows he has won even before Andrea says anything, and the worst part is Andrea knows it too. He is too damn easy.  
  
“Fine, but we’re not waking up Rino. That last pummelling was enough for a while.”  
  
“I didn’t say anything about that,” Sandro retorts with a shrug that tells Andrea that yes, it is exactly what he had wanted to suggest, “So let’s see— the one who loses is gonna have to sneak into Pippo’s room and snatch his last Plasmons.”  
  
“You got a death wish?” Andrea asks even as he chooses the team on FIFA, prepared to kick Sandro’s ass into next week, because he is  _not_ going to be the one facing Inzaghi’s wrath tonight.  
  
Pippo loves his biscuits. No, Andrea is fairly sure “love” does not even begin to explain it: Pippo is obsessed, jealous, protective in a way only a true world class striker can be. Andrea has long since come to realize that all the top strikers are a little cracked in the head – the better they are the crazier they get – which is all the more reason to stay in Pippo’s good graces.  
  
Andrea thinks he should have known better than to take Sandro’s bait as he hangs around in the corridor outside Pippo’s door after the thorough 5 to 1 beating he received from his roommate.  
  
Pippo has a single room – one of the few players aside from Maldini to have such a privilege – and it makes it all the more difficult for Andrea to sneak in unnoticed. Pippo is a light sleeper to begin with, and every sound to awaken him would be a suspicious one because no one is supposed to be there.  
  
Andrea’s best chance of successful burglary is to wait for Pippo to leave the room, no matter how momentarily, and then slip in and out before he comes back. It is risky, but not nearly as risky as going in while Pippo is right there.  
  
This is not the first time someone has attempted to steal Pippo’s Plasmons – it is one of their favourite pastimes along with correcting Gattuso’s grammar – so Andrea knows he is fighting a losing battle.  
  
Because even if it is not the first time someone has tried, it would be the first time anyone has succeeded.  
  
“There’s a first time for everything,” he mutters under his breath when he hears the door just around the corner opening and closing, and then there is a sound of bare feet hitting the floor – Pippo never bothers wearing shoes or even socks during the nights in Milanello, Andrea has come to notice during their years as teammates.  
  
The door is unlocked, just as Andrea had anticipated, and the lights in the room are still on. He cannot have much time, then.  
  
The biscuits are not out in the open – of course they are not, what kind of a nutter leaves his treasures up for anyone’s taking – so Andrea walks further into the room, rounds the bed, looking for places where Pippo could have hidden the packet.  
  
To his surprise, he finds what he is looking for lying on the floor next to the nightstand, not hidden or carefully protected like they normally are. Rumour has it Pippo would go to incredible lengths to protect his precious Plasmons, and Andrea has no doubt all those rumours are true.  
  
But there the packet still is, just waiting for Andrea to take it and escape the room unscathed, almost as if Pippo had planted it there on purpose.  
  
Andrea pokes the packet with his toe first to make sure it will not explode – or something equally ridiculous because Pippo is just that crazy – and then he crouches to pick it up. Two biscuits remaining, just like always: those are special,  _magical_ , the last two biscuits no one is allowed to touch.  
  
“I figured you’d be stopping by,” Pippo’s lazy voice catches Andrea by surprise, and he jumps up to face his teammate, still clutching the packet in his hands. So much for thinking up a better excuse for his impromptu visit.  
  
Pippo is only wearing shorts and a tank top – his own, even though they are supposed to wear the sponsored casual wear whenever they are at Milanello – and he is dragging his bare feet on the floor as he closes the door behind him and makes his way towards Andrea.  
  
“Why don’t you just hand them over and no one will get hurt, huh?” a smile is tugging at one corner of Pippo’s mouth, like his was amused, “You do want us to win tomorrow, don’t you?”  
  
Andrea takes a step back, keeping the packet out of Pippo’s reach, and picks up one of the two biscuits, almost threatening, “Never took you for the superstitious type. Isn’t that more Gila’s forte?”  
  
“I’m not,” Pippo states with a shrug, “It’s not superstition, it’s a fact. We’re gonna lose if you mess with my Plasmons.”  
  
“We’ll have to see about that, huh?” Andrea retorts and bites into the Plasmon triumphantly. Hell, this is the closest anyone has come to beating Pippo, so he might as well go all the way. He can survive Gattuso’s fork attacks, and he doubts Pippo can do anything worse.  
  
Pippo lets out a theatrical sigh, and with two long strides he has Andrea backed against the bed. Damn he is tall up close, Andrea’s mind supplies helpfully.  
  
“Tomorrow’s loss is on you then,” Pippo notes calmly as he plucks the Plasmon packet from Andrea’s hands and drops it back to the floor. He does not appear particularly alarmed, and for the first time Andrea almost believes his peculiar act is more a force of habit than actual belief.  
  
“I don’t know how you can eat these,” Andrea replies with a crooked smirk, throwing the remaining part of the biscuit into his mouth, “They’re nasty.”  
  
“You should just give it back then,” Pippo tells him with a chuckle, and before Andrea can actually think up a proper answer, Pippo leans in and presses his lips against his.  
  
The rational part of Andrea is telling him he should punch Pippo in the face for it – Pippo might be open to shagging anything that moves, but Andrea has a wife, a family, actual commitments – but at the same time some other part, more instinctive part, realizes that Pippo is a  _damn good kisser_  and it would be a shame not to enjoy it while it lasts.  
  
Andrea has always preferred following his instincts – it is what makes him so good at what he does on the pitch as well – so it does not really take a conscious decision at all when he parts his lips and returns the kiss, allowing Pippo to slip his tongue into his mouth.  
  
He realizes what Pippo is doing only when the striker breaks the kiss, swallowing the last piece of Plasmon he stole right from Andrea’s tongue.  
  
“That’s disgusting,” Andrea informs him, making a face for good measure.  
  
Pippo only laughs at the comment, dropping his gaze to look pointedly at Andrea’s hand that is still clutching his top, “I told you to give it back. What were you expecting?”  
  
“You’re nuts.”  
  
“So I’ve been told.”  
  
This time it is Andrea who initiates the kiss, releasing his hold on the shirt and moving his hand up to hold the back of Pippo’s neck instead. He can still taste the bland flavour of the biscuit on both of their tongues, but it disappears soon enough, leaving only Pippo’s warm mouth and soft lips and smart tongue and the barely-there scratch of his stubble.  
  
Pippo’s hand is resting on the small of Andrea’s back, long fingers slipping below the hem of his t-shirt, the cool touch on the bare skin much more exciting than Andrea had expected.  
  
“Did you plan this?” Andrea asks when they run out of air, taking deep breaths between each word, his lips brushing against Pippo’s as he speaks, “Or was it all Sandro’s idea?”  
  
“I don’t know what you're talking about,” Pippo deadpans, his eyes laughing when he meets Andrea’s gaze. That is all the proof Andrea needs to know he has been played, by both his friends.  
  
“You know all you needed to do was ask,” he huffs a laugh at Pippo, brushing a chaste kiss on his lips, tangling his fingers into the dark locks of hair, “You’re an infuriating nutjob, but you’re also a ridiculously  _hot_  nutjob who doesn’t need stupid schemes to seduce me.”  
  
“Well I’ve tried, haven’t I?” Pippo protests playfully, stealing another kiss before he pushes Andrea down to sit on the bed and drops to his knees in front of him, “You’re just too damn thick to notice.”  
  
“But you didn’t  _ask_ ,” Andrea reminds him, but there is no power behind the words anymore.  
  
Pippo rolls his eyes pointedly and pulls Andrea’s sweatpants down to his thighs, followed by his boxers. Pippo’s cool breath on his cock sends shivers down Andrea’s spine, and Andrea lets out a soft sigh and just leans back to allow Pippo to do his thing.  
  
If Andrea had thought Pippo’s mouth smart while kissing him, it is nothing compared to what that mouth can do in other places – it is the best blowjob he has ever received, spontaneous and straight to the point, and Andrea thinks he should apologize to his wife for even thinking that.  
  
Considering his current position, Andrea has a lot more to apologize for than just letting Pippo so easily top his mental rankings, but that is a thought he definitely does not wish to pursue right at that moment.  
  
At that moment, everything Andrea cares about is the man kneeling between his legs and the warm lips around his cock, his head bobbing lower with each suck, pulling him in just right, fast, urgent—  
  
“I’m gonna come,” he lets out a breathy groan, his fingers finding Pippo’s hair again, tugging on the soft strands, anchoring himself to this place. This is all Andrea is. This is all Andrea needs.  
  
Pippo hums around his cock and it is the last straw that finally makes Andrea lose himself. He gasps, bucks his cock upwards into Pippo’s mouth as he comes, not caring if his hold on Pippo’s hair is getting painful.  
  
“Wow,” Andrea finally manages to grit out after he comes down from his climax, looking down at Pippo who is leaning his cheek against Andrea’s thigh, meeting his gaze lazily, “I guess I’d better not ask where you learned that.”  
  
“That might be smart,” Pippo agrees easily, his eyes drooping when Andrea strokes his hair gently.  
  
So instead of asking anything more, Andrea just scoots backwards on the bed and pulls Pippo along with him, “Come here, idiot.”  
  
They end up sprawled on the bed, legs entangled, Pippo half on top of Andrea. Andrea feels Pippo’s erection pressed against his thigh, the striker making no attempt at concealing it but not pushing his limits either. He knows Andrea will return the favour, and for a second Andrea thinks it should  _not_  feel this natural.  
  
Pippo tries to muffle his groan against Andrea’s neck when Andrea pushes his hand into his shorts, finding the awaiting erection and wrapping his fingers around it.  
  
He settles for a quick rhythm, the angle new but the feeling of a cock in his hand familiar enough, and it takes only a few minutes before Pippo spills his seed over his hand and into his briefs. Andrea adds to the mess by wiping his fingers into Pippo’s shorts as he pulls his hand away.  
  
“Those were clean, you shithead,” Pippo mumbles against Andrea’s neck, his breath cool against the sweaty skin, “At least I didn’t make a mess of you.”  
  
“Shut up and go to sleep,” Andrea tells him affectionately.  
  
Half to his surprise, Pippo actually complies, wrapping his arm around Andrea’s waist and snuggling closer to him, his soft snores quickly filling the silence of the room.  
  
  
  
“I think I deserve a ‘thanks’, don’t you think?”  
  
Andrea only scoffs in response and goes back to kicking Sandro’s ass on FIFA, Barça versus Barça, just like always. He is leading by 4 to 2, and it is not nearly enough.  
  
“I’m wounded! This is what I get after playing the cupid? This is what I get for being the warrior of  _love_?”  
  
Sandro is flailing theatrically to emphasize his point, and Andrea takes an advantage of it and scores his 5th goal.  
  
“I think ‘love’ doesn’t quite cut it,” Pippo quips happily from where he is sitting on the floor between Andrea’s spread legs, leaning his back against the armchair, “Maybe fate? Destiny? Soul mates?”  
  
“How about ‘easy fuck’?” Andrea kicks Pippo without sparing a glance at him, “Now shut up and stop distracting me. Just eat those damn biscuits of yours.”  
  
“Told you so,” Pippo tells Sandro under his breath and drops a playful kiss on Andrea’s knee before going back to his new packet of Plasmons.  
  
Sandro scores his 3rd and 4th while Andrea is busy yelling at Pippo about distracting him  _again_.

**Author's Note:**

>  _Our head-to-heads were pure adrenaline. I’d go Barcelona and so would Sandro. Barca v Barca. The first player I’d pick was the quickest one, Samuel Eto’o, but I’d still end up losing a lot of time. I’d get pissed off and hurl away my controller before asking for a rematch. And then I’d lose again._ – Pirlo on the real life OT3, Pirlo/Nesta/Playstation
> 
>  _Rino’s always been my favourite target, top of the table by some distance. This despite the fact that on several occasions he’s tried to kill me with a fork._ – Pirlo on his favourite pastime in Milanello, i.e. riling up Gattuso
> 
>  _We all knew those baby biscuits were what Pippo ate at all hours, every single day. He was a 40-year-old newborn. And when he came to the end of a pack, he had to leave two biscuits at the bottom. Not one, not three: two. “That way the stars will stay aligned in my favour.” Ah yes, the famous alignment of stars and baby biscuits._ – Pirlo on the real life OTP, Pippo/Plasmons
> 
>  _Over the years I’ve realised that all forwards are fetishists._ \- Pirlo speaking the truest words ever uttered
> 
> \- If you haven’t read Pirlo’s book yet, go and do it! It’s a massively entertaining read with lots of interesting tidbits from the course of his career.  
> \- In case you’re still not convinced that this ship is the best that ever sailed, [take a look at this](http://montosmadman.tumblr.com/post/100897429332) and come to the dark side. No need to thank me.  
> \- My thesis deadline is in mid November and I still have lots of stuff to work on, so technically I shouldn’t have written this either. Apologies to those waiting for me to finish my WIP stuff – I promise I’ll get back to that once I’ve made sure I can finish my degree in time!
> 
> \- Comments would be lovely!


End file.
